


Blood Oaths and Cows

by PurgaticSaint



Category: The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 19:26:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14267937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurgaticSaint/pseuds/PurgaticSaint
Summary: Set some vague time after "Lady Midnight" when Rafael and Max Lightwood-Bane are still very small boys, this is the story of how two brothers decide it shall be their lifes' work to acquire cows. As soon as one of their fathers finishes swearing a blood oath, that is. And the other gets his lecture on nicknames he'll be called if he keeps up with some. But cows, cows are the endgame for two brothers and this is the story of how they get cows, and more!





	Blood Oaths and Cows

“Right feet, Daddy?”  
Alec Lightwood looked down at his son’s feet and shook his head. “Sorry, buddy. That’s not even a matching pair of shoes.”  
Grumbling, Max stared at his feet and debated whether he wanted to wear his Captain America sneakers or his race car sneakers. He settled on race car and kicked the other one off, walking away lopsided in search of the other half of the pair. When he got back to the living room, shoes on the proper feet and Velcroed snugly in place, he saw Rafe dancing around while watching the lights on his light-up sneakers. Max stayed quiet because, for a Shadowhunter, Rafe was awfully clumsy and it was a sure thing he was going to trip if he didn’t look up from his feet. He knew he wasn’t supposed to laugh when people fell but his brother had laughed when he fell off the toilet just last night.  
“Mierda!” Rafe exclaimed as he crashed into a wingback chair and fell backward onto his butt.  
Max looked at his daddy, waiting impatiently for Rafe to get in trouble like he had for calling the guy on the corner who never gave him mustard with his pretzel a ‘bastard.’ “Daddy!” he yelped when nobody got in trouble. “Rafe said a bad word!”  
Knowing he had said a word he wasn’t supposed to say, the older boy gave a vehement shake of his head. “No, Daddy, I didn’t!”  
“Yes, you did,” Max shot back, “and you know it!”  
“Hey,” Alec said, coming to stand between them before somebody tackled somebody. “What did he say, Max?”  
Max felt this might be a trick, one that would get him in trouble too. He pursed his lips and shook his head. “No, I’ll tell Papa when him gets home.”  
His father raised an eyebrow. “Why tell Papa and not me? Maybe you shouldn’t tattle on your brother at all, if you don’t want him to tattle when you do something wrong.”  
“He did!” he cried indignantly. “I didn’t get to eat my pretzel ‘cuz Rafe tolded Papa I called the pretzel guy a b…”  
He thought Magnus could have mentioned that event, just as fair warning for something that their sons would, there should not have been any doubt, argue about later. Careful not to punish Max for something Magnus already had, he asked again why he was waiting to tell his papa.  
“Him knows Spanish,” Max said, in a tone that said the answer really was obvious, and should have been to Alec.  
Alec rubbed his temples, silently cursing the nest of demons that had kept him from his Spanish studies. It was a lame excuse, even considering that they were demons, because he was just not good at learning Spanish. Any language, really. Sitting down and studying verbs and conjugates, or whatever those things the Nephilim never really bothered to teach themselves, even in their native language, was not his strong suit. And he hadn’t ever thought he’d need to know Spanish swear words because his five year old did. “Fine,” he said, with total resignation. “Wait until Papa gets home and tell him.”  
“Can we go to the playground now?” Max asked, more than ready to move on with his plans for the afternoon.  
“Get your coats and we’ll go. I’ll text Papa to meet us there when he’s done at work.”  
They ran off to find the coats that matched the shoes they’d picked, both of them following Magnus’ example when it came to clothes and matching.  
Alec collected the things he needed for a trip outside the apartment, because even going to the playground required more gear than going to fight a nest of demons. He was almost done, and heard his sons’ footsteps running back toward him, when a gust of wind blew through the room. With his hand on the hilt of his dagger, he turned around slowly. His hand wouldn’t move when he tried to lift the dagger.  
“Promise not to throw that at me and I’ll unfreeze you.”  
The young woman standing in front of him, whose arrival must have caused the gust of wind, had downy silver wings fluttering gently on her back.  
“Who are you?”  
She sighed, pulling her wings in tight beneath the black cape she wore. “Of course you would ask that, Alexander Lightwood, and I’ll tell you but I won’t unfreeze you until I have your promise not to throw that dagger at me.”  
“Are you going to hurt my children?”  
“Not even if you refuse to stop asking me questions before I can even introduce myself. I do promise you that.”  
“I won’t throw the dagger at you,” he promised, because he wasn’t really in any position to argue. “You can take it, if you want.”  
She waved her fingers and unfroze him, letting him keep his dagger. “I am Regina.”  
“No last name?” he asked, not moving even though he could.  
“No one had a last name when I was born,” she said with a wink and a grin.  
“You’re a warlock.”  
“Perceptive. I am, as a matter of fact, the Most High Warlock, Mistress of the Spiral Labyrinth.” She gave a tiny curtsey and watched for his reaction.  
His breath had caught in his chest when she gave her titles. No Nephilim had ever seen the Mistress of the Spiral Labyrinth, who had ruled the warlocks… forever, as far as the Nephilim knew. Most people thought that it was impossible for her to leave. Alec realized that might just be typical Nephilim hubris. “Magnus isn’t here,” he said, on the off chance she wanted to see him. He wondered too if Magnus had ever seen her.  
“And that is why I am,” Regina said, gesturing toward the red suede sofa. “May I?”  
He nodded and sat on the black suede sofa across from her. He saw Rafael and Max peeking around the corner from the hallway, having stopped short when they saw a stranger in their home. He swung his gaze back to Regina.  
“Still won’t hurt them,” she said, “though perhaps they’d be less frightened if you introduced us?”  
How do you introduce the most powerful warlock in the world? One who randomly showed up and has yet to say why? Alec settled on something mundane. “This is Regina, boys. She’s… Papa’s boss.”  
“Papa isn’t here,” Max pointed out.  
Alec scratched his ear. “She’s… working on a surprise for him. It’s okay. Will you guys just… go read some Dr. Seuss books to Chairman Meow?”  
Trusting him, they nodded and ran off together.  
He turned back to Regina. “Why are you here?”  
She twitched the hem of her cape over her like a blanket and took a deep breath. “There is some… concern about Max being raised in the, let’s say, nest of vipers that the Nephilim can be toward our kind.”  
Careful not to take offense, he aimed to be firm and convincing. “Are they your concerns? You do lead the Children of Lilith now, unchallenged since she was so badly weakened, so it’s your concern, or lack of, that I care most about.”  
Taking time to choose her words carefully, she made cups of lapsang souchong tea appear for them both. “They are my concerns in that, as I am sure you know well with the recent rise and demise of the Cohort, a small issue among a few can too quickly blossom into a self-defeating plague upon a group of people.”  
“Are you asking me to give up Max?”  
Regina smiled and made an approving noise as she sipped her tea. “I had heard you were very direct, and I do appreciate that in a creature. Especially a Nephilim. Tell me, Alexander Lightwood, if I said that I was asking you to give up the warlock child, would you?”  
“No.”  
“Because of Magnus?”  
“Because of Max. Because of me. Because of Magnus, and of Rafael.” He tried to calm himself down, to be steady and even in front of someone he knew, knew deep down, could decide his future. “Max is my son. I am Max’s father. A father fights for his son. That’s how it works. No matter who the enemy is, no matter how powerful. I fight for Max.”  
She’d heard he was passionate and intense, but the truth in his eyes helped convince her it was not an act. There was little, if anything, half-hearted in this Nephilim’s devotion to a warlock child. “And the Clave? They accept that the child is your son in all but blood?”  
“Consul Penhallow does, most of the Clave do. Some will never accept me or my family,” he admitted with total truth and no regret. “I’ll keep Max, and Rafael, away from them. There are more good people than bad, and the good are the ones who matter.”  
Regina stood with a flourish of her cape, her cup empty already. “I am immensely satisfied by your words, Alexander Lightwood. As I imagine you might agree, though, there are always those who need to see something to believe something so I wonder if you would swear an oath to protect the warlock child from abuse and discrimination and poisoning, mentally speaking, by the Nephilim?”  
Alec nodded. “I will.”  
She raised an eyebrow at his answer. “You will. Without knowing what happens if you break the oath? I am a warlock, a powerful one, so you must expect some magical clause.”  
“I do. It doesn’t matter.” He shrugged his shoulders as he stood in front of her. “I won’t break the oath.”  
Regina got to her feet and fluttered her wings with gentle purpose. A roll sheet of parchment formed in the air in front of Alec as she held out a small silver pin. “Prick your finger with this pin and let eight drops of blood fall onto the parchment. Do not touch the parchment. Do this, and I have your oath that the warlock child will not be harmed, mentally or physically, by the Nephilim so long as you draw breath.”  
Alec pricked his finger and held it, dripping blood slowly but surely, over the parchment.  
Regina waved her fingers through the air and the parchment flew into the folds of her cape. “You may tell Magnus I was here,” she said, her wings unfurling, “but he may not yell at me for coming without his knowledge. I shall be very cross if he does.”  
He chuckled, relieved that it was over so easily. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t yell at you.”  
She waved her wings at Max and Rafe, who’d crept back and peered around the corner. “Be well, Alexander Lightwood,” she said, turning to him, “and I mean no offense when I say I hope I won’t need to see you ever again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of this. I'd just be very miserable if I couldn't get lost in Cassandra Clare's imagination now and then.


End file.
